


All-Nighter

by Limecola



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anesthesia, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fear Play, Imprisonment, M/M, Medical Kink, Multiple Personalities, Needles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia, Trans Male Character, unseen character death implied maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limecola/pseuds/Limecola
Summary: You and the Professor have had a mutually beneficial relationship since his early teaching days at the University. So when he asks you to meet, there's no reason to believe it's anything but business as usual, right? Except the time he's spent on the run from the law has seemingly brought out a version of himself that he used to keep deep under wraps - and now that it's running the show, there's no telling what it may want from you.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Original Character(s), Jonathan Crane/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	All-Nighter

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the DID Crane, and sorry for the weirdly structured porn. 
> 
> Since the tags make it a little unclear and I want to make sure anyone who gives this a read knows what they're getting into, I'd call this "non-con, in which compliance is often given but under threat of potentially severe repercussions, leading into a sexual scenario in which a participant does not and cannot give consent, though in part due to their past consensual sexual history with this individual they are not fully against what's occurring"
> 
> Original/"You" character is trans male.
> 
> Honestly inspired by reflecting on how much I used to have to jerk off nightly to finish my high school math homework.

You sat in the farthest corner of the bed from the door, the grey-painted concrete walls pressing against both your shoulders. Your arms were wrapped around your knees, squishing the thin plastic-cased pillow between your thighs and chest.

His tests seemed to be winding down. Outside your tiny cell, somewhere down the winding concrete halls of this once-abandoned factory, the screaming was becoming less frequent. Before it had been a cacophony, dying off excruciatingly slowly as voices gradually became hoarser then eventually dropped out. The cackling had stopped entirely. It had been manic and gleeful, so different from the Professor as you remembered him that you half-entertained the thought that maybe someone else was there.

You let yourself slowly slump down the wall till you lay on your side, knees still drawn up and eyes glued to the door. You were exhausted merely from being so tense for so long. You were cold too, the thin blue hospital gown and matching trousers doing little to keep the basement dampness off your skin. There was a thin scratchy quilt on the bed over-top the sheets, but you somehow felt less exposed above the covers. Maybe it was a childish irrationality, but you imagined that if you curled up under the blankets, suddenly you’d be a target for torment that he’d find impossible to pass up.

A spider crawled under the door, and you watched it fearfully as it ran along the wall, till it disappeared into a small crack.

* * *

Back when you worked at Gotham U, the Professor seemed to like keeping you around, too. You’d get his text with a date and time, yet when you handed over the folder filled with all the latest information and charts, he’d just invite you back to his tiny book-filled apartment for tea and conversation. Sometimes, more than tea, and more than conversation. Regardless, dawn was always breaking by the time he finally handed you the bag with his latest chemicals. Tiny vials with barely enough liquids to fill a thimble – yet brilliant, so full of infinite potential. When the Professor set his mind to a project, he poured his whole heart into it, and the results were always amazing.

That willpower… That hadn’t changed. These past couple of years it had only strengthened, as the Professor’s work became less legal and his ties with society as a whole were snipped one by one. What was new was… Well… You’d known that his new work required human test subjects, and yet…

Maybe you’d just been incredibly stupid, assuming that your relationship and worth to him hadn’t changed since you’d last been able to meet. Everything had seemed normal at first. You received his text. You met him at the location. You followed him down to his lab. You handed over the folder while answering questions about how you’ve been, practically giddy to hear what progress he’d made while working outside the confines of the law.

He put your folder away carefully among his files, then crossed the room without hesitation.

“Down this way, please.”

He was smiling as he held open the door for you – a different door than the one you’d come in through. He spoke and gestured politely, without urgency or threat. But you thought that you caught something in his eye that made your blood suddenly run cold.

“U-uh…”

His lips opened a little as his smile grew, letting through a small glint of teeth, yellowish from so much late-night coffee.

“I require your assistance. With my research.”

As he spoke, he casually hooked one thumb in a pocket. The gesture made notice the outline of a handgun in his pocket. Your gaze shot fearfully back up to his eyes, and it was suddenly quite obvious that he was watching you with great amusement. His voice remained courteous, even if the threat was apparent in his words.

“You’ll cooperate, won’t you?”

You quickly nodded and took a couple of steps towards the door, then, fearful of being closer to him, you took a step back as well.

“Heh… Come along, then.”

He nodded curtly then turned his back to you, starting down the hall.

There were things in this lab you could use as weapons.

Glass, metal, chemicals.

There were places to hide.

The exit was just across the room.

Stepping quickly to catch up, you followed Professor Crane down the hallway.

* * *

The screaming had choked out a while ago. The building had been relatively silent for an hour, maybe more, when suddenly there was a quick rapping on your door. You gasped and hugged the pillow hard, and you heard a high laugh from the other side of the door.

“Hello~? Are you ready for your turn now, dear?”

“I-I’ll do whatever you say as long as you don’t hurt me, ok Professor? Ok??”

He laughed again, obviously greatly amused by your words. You wondered if it had been the wrong thing to say.

The Professor stepped up to the little plexiglass window in the door so he could look in at you. You’d never seen the kind of manic energy that distorted his perpetually pale, tired features.

“”Professor”? I didn’t realize that the University cared for my contributions so very much that they upheld my title!”

He giggled to himself, unlocking a small hatch in the door. Earlier in the evening, he had slid a tray with water and graham crackers through it. Now, he tapped authoritatively on the little wooden shelf.

“Come here.”

Shakily, you put down your pillow and approached the door.

“Give me your arm.”

He beckoned for you to slide your hand through the hatch – on the other side, you could see he was preparing a leather strap attached to the shelf.

You’d told him that you’d do what he said.

“What are you going to do?” He wrapped his fingers around your wrist before pulling your arm down, so he could strap it in place. You noticed that his nails were rather long and painted black. You resisted the mad impulse to tell him “nice nails.”

“I’m giving you a preliminary anesthetic.” Secured, he pulled out a syringe and popped off the small cap from the needle.

“You really don’t need to do that!” You tried and failed not to sound alarmed, barely resisting the animal instinct to struggle.

He tutted, then giggled. “Now, now. Who’s the doctor here?”

“Um…” You didn’t think he still possessed his doctorate either, but that was perhaps the wrong thing to say. Too late, though.

He sighed. “Think you’re funny, hm?” He rubbed circles in the crook of your arm with his thumb, making you flinch. “Stay still. I can barely see your veins.” Then, mumbled to himself, “I’ll have to warm you up soon…”

You knew neither how to interpret or feel about this last comment. But the needle was in, and you were scrunching up your eyes and clenching your teeth trying not to flinch away.

“There, all done.” His fake-soothing voice only emphasized his amusement at your reaction to a simple injection. He pressed a small cotton ball against the puncture, and you held it in place with a trembling hand as he undid the strap.

“You should lie down now.” It was only a suggestion, but the sudden wave of dizziness sent you stumbling back to the bed. You were beginning to feel a strange looseness in your limbs, and a coldness that made your teeth clatter. You struggled to quickly pull the covers around you.

You thought you heard footsteps departing. You pulled the scratchy blanket over your face with your fading strength and thought only of conserving heat.

* * *

The next thing you knew you were colder still, and there were hands under your armpits hoisting you onto some kind of chair. The hands were digging rather hard into sensitive skin, so you tried to help by pushing off the bed with one foot.

“Oop- none of that, you’re alright.” You felt your back sink against something, and one by one your wrists and ankles were strapped to something firmly, so you were sitting up fairly straight. Your head lolled to the side and you groaned in discomfort and confusion, until you felt hands on either side of your face carefully reposition you so that your chin sunk down into your chest.

There was a click and you started moving forward, and the motion was so strangely relaxing that you drifted back out of consciousness.

* * *

Only one time you’d fallen asleep at his apartment.

You’d woken up in his bed to find him sitting in a chair only a meter or so from your face, reading a book. You supposed that he’d wanted to wake you up but was too socially awkward to attempt it. When he realized you were looking at him, he sighed in both relief and annoyance, and said-

* * *

“Oh good, you’re awake!”

You were instantly confused.

For years he’d always treated you like a cat that he cared for despite being more trouble than you were worth. So why was he smiling at you so differently now, as if you were a toy he couldn’t wait to take apart?

Humming to himself, he hoisted you up from the wheelchair onto an elevated medical table, depositing you rather unceremoniously onto the unevenly padded surface. Your shaky limbs scrambled to lift yourself onto all fours, but the Professor’s hand pushed down on the small of your back until you were splayed out again.

“Sorry, dear.” He giggled as you groaned, repositioning your body and strapping you down, face-down, one limb at a time. The table was clearly made for this posture, with small cushions supporting key parts of your body, including one under your forehead keeping your face off the table.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked, slurring only a little.

“Haha, don’t worry, don’t worry… You don’t expect me to slice you open, do you?” You felt something sharp scratch a line down your back and you stiffened and yelped, before realizing it was only his nail. He laughed.

“I’ve got A LOT of work to do tonight… Plans to be made, and mountains and mountains of data to analyze!” That clarified nothing, and he seemed to respond directly to your confused silence. “Did you ever notice how Jonathan always invited you over when he was in the midst of a great deal of work? ‘Round exam time, especially?”

You hadn’t, in fact, made that seemingly meaningless connection. But, why was he referring to himself in the third person? He WAS the Professor, right? A new wave of fear washed over you. Your mind seemed to be blanking with incomprehension.

He pinched your cheek, playful and painful, and giggled. “Aww! So clueless! What did you think? That he looooves you~?”

You let out a desperate squeak of confusion. Fuck, you don’t know what you thought!

“Pff. Doesn’t matter.” He gave you a little pat on the back of the head and pulled something out from inside a nearby drawer.

A moment later, a piece of black cloth was tied firmly over your mouth, quickly followed by a similar cloth over your eyes. You tried to rub your face against the table to displace the cloths, but he forced your forehead and chin into the cushions and strapped you down, so you couldn’t move your head in any direction. Panic building, you let out a whimper.

“Aww… It’s ok~” He stroked your cheek affectionately. A moment later he sighed in a way that sounded relieved, then chuckled to himself. “You’re already so much better like this, you know.” You felt the hand at your face wander down along the back of your neck, sending every hair up on end.

“It’s not personal…” He practically purred, sounding truly like a completely different person. “I just don’t want you to look at me or speak to me… Do anything, really… While you help me keep _focused_.”

At his last word, a second hand joined his first in dipping below the neckline of your hospital gown, caressing the newly exposed flesh with cold fingers.

You jerked and yelped as hard as your restraints and gag would allow, but how much was from repulsion or fear or simply the cold, you didn’t know.

“Ah, right.”

The hands were gone, and you shivered a little as you listened to him move around the room. Something large with some weight to it was thrown over you and you flinched, irrationally terrified of being smothered, but it was only a blanket. Soon it began to warm up, and you realized it was a heated blanket – almost immediately, the part of your mind and body still effected by the anesthetic began to tug you gently back towards sleep in spite of all rationale to the contrary.

Just as you were relaxing slightly, a ventilator mask was placed over the lower half of your face, and a strap secured behind your head. Restrained as you were, you had no hope of wiggling free of it.

“It’ll help you relax.” His voice explained. Then you heard the door close, and, silence.

That was it?

You checked in with every area of your body, giving experimental wiggles to see how secure the bonds were.

Very secure, as it turned out.

You really couldn’t move. Or speak. Or see. You couldn’t do anything.

But… It sounded like he didn’t want to hurt you. And you were getting warmed up. It wasn’t uncomfortable, and you were sleepy…

* * *

The new anesthesia couldn’t have been strong, because you never totally blacked out. Though the fan-like hissing noise of the machine was oddly soothing, you only drifted slightly in and out… In and out… The moment your mind began dreaming, you were gently pulled back to reality…

And yet, reality didn’t seem so bad… You were warm, you couldn’t move but you were comfortable, awareness of your situation was fading now that you couldn’t see your surroundings, your head gently swam…

You were so warm… And you felt so good. As your mind drifted teasingly close to unconsciousness, you found yourself trying to rub your thighs together, then, failing that, press your pelvis down against the table to create pressure on your clit you could grind against. Nada. You genuinely couldn’t tell whether the restraints were keeping you in place, or your muscles were simply refusing to respond. Either way, you let out a tiny, weak groan as the feeling of arousal steadily grew without any way of alleviating it.

* * *

When you felt something cold and sharp on the back of your neck, the result was instantaneous: you let out a small yelp, and your whole body leapt from its relaxed posture to fully tensed. But that instinctual response took too much out of you: you groaned with mixed fear and defeat as your body and mind relaxed once more.

The Professor giggled gleefully, and you felt his nail drag slowly and firmly down, down your neck and over your left shoulder-blade. It punctured just deep enough to leave a stinging trail behind it. As it moved over muscles they clenched briefly, automatically, but just as quickly relaxed unable to keep up the effort. This reaction seemed to please him.

“Good, good… I don’t want to increase the anesthetic too much. I don’t want you falling asleep on me.”

You wondered vaguely what the difference would be… Then heard the telltale snap of latex gloves being pulled none-too-gently over an eager hand, and you flinched a little involuntarily.

One bare hand wrapped gently around your throat, nails resting just to the side of where your pulse beat steadily away.

To your great displeasure, you felt the heated blanket being moved away. Soon you felt a set of medically gloved fingers easily push your slacks down and out of the way. Then, just as easily, they slide up between your thighs to prod into your slick entrance.

You flinched again, harder, and let out a more sustained moan.

He tutted, the hand on your throat disappeared for a moment, and you heard a knob turn with the faint hiss of gas. Almost immediately your consciousness wavered, and your body became heavy like lead.

He tried inserting again: a couple of fingers, up to the second digit. They found no resistance, though the walls gently contracted around them. Your breath deepened, but you couldn’t make a sound.

With his moistened fingers, and his thumb, he found your erect clit and started rolling and massaging its short length, letting its hard head roll between his fingertips like a tiny marble.

Your breathing grew much heavier, air sucked through the dampening cloth around your mouth. Your pulse quickened against his fingers, but the harder you breathed the more your head swam, and it became hard to remember what was happening. Strong sensations shot through you and your body twitched here and there on instinct, but that was all.

Seemingly satisfied with your state, he hummed cheerfully and withdrew his fingers. Before you could miss them too much, you felt you lower half dip slightly as the table was re-positioned, and you were unceremoniously filled with his long, hot, latex-covered member.

You weren’t sure how long it lasted. His steady pace slowed only when he reached over you to adjust the gas gauge a smidge one way or the other. He seemed to relish feeling your racing pulse beneath his fingers while you remained unable to give almost any physical response. It was hard not to just get lost in the moment, allow your thoughts to scatter.

* * *

You were cozy warm again, you felt certain that you could drift off to sleep if you weren’t so aroused. Your thighs were sticky and pelvis a little sore. You felt an odd wave of relief flood you as you heard the telltale creak of the door, and the clink of a coffee mug set down on a metal table.

Had this happened before? What time was it…?

Your thoughts drifted away vaguely as the gauge creaked, increasing the hiss of gas.

* * *

You felt like you’d been dreaming for days.

Sleep beckoned, but the bed was hard, and you desperately wanted to break free from the cycle of repeating dreams.

You opened your eyes with difficulty, and a small grey-walled cell floated into your vision.

You sat up too quickly, terrified that you were imprisoned again, but as you clutched your aching head, you saw that things were different.

There were two doors across the room – one had curtains over its little window that sunlight was seeping through.

At the foot of the bed was a table, with your clothes and belongings arranged simply but neatly.

It didn’t take long till you were stumbling out of the hospital garb and putting on your street clothes with renewed appreciation. You tried the doorknob and, blessedly, it turned, the door leading you into an alleyway bathed in golden early morning light. Before you could take a step out, though, you noticed a bag propped up by the door, and you picked it up without a thought: inside were a handful of tiny vials filled with a few drops of chemicals each.


End file.
